


No Known Beat That Can Keep Me Lonely

by Marashete



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, Smoking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marashete/pseuds/Marashete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On taking candy and compliments from a pretty-eyed stranger you meet on the train. (There is no candy, except maybe something to ogle)<br/>On teaching someone who is rooted how to go with the flow.<br/>On being heard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Known Beat That Can Keep Me Lonely

He catches the stranger’s eyes by mistake as his train pulls away. The stranger is looking up at the train, blue eyes wide and frantic and _gorgeous_ , and the mania leaves him as he likely realizes it's not the one he wanted. His eyes slide to Bruce's, and Bruce’s hair is curled and matted and he ducks his head, soft smile on his lips as he averts his gaze. His cheeks are probably pink, and he is embarrassed, but the beautiful stranger just watches him leave, whisked away by the wind of New York City public transit. In a city like this one, beautiful strangers are not rare, and Bruce expects to lose him in the bubbles of people.  

He doesn't. The stranger is there the next week, hair a different color (it's slight, but it's there, a slight red to the tips of his dark hair) and glasses on the bridge of his nose while he reads during his wait for his train. Bruce clutches the strap of his bag with whitened knuckles, fabric rough and painful against his skin, and can't work up the courage to say anything. The man is beautiful, still, and a stranger, still. As he reaches to turn the page of his book, Bruce catches the dark of a line of ink, dancing under the edge of the cuff of his dress shirt. 

This is more intimidating. 

Bruce looks up as his train arrives. So does the stranger. He stands, slow, deliberate, and steps into the car; Bruce follows, but sits across the way from him, sliding back into his seat and sprawling his legs. The city teaches that the consumption of space in places like this is necessary, and he intended to do so for the full forty-five minutes of his ride. The stranger is back to his book. 

The car gradually empties, until it's just him and Stranger Danger and the late-night homeless people who sleep in the car for warmth. Bruce thinks briefly of the cold in his fingers and toes and is grateful for the warmth that he can go home to, now—he was not unlike them, a few months before. 

Stranger Danger abandoned his book twenty minutes into the ride, and took to staring at the walls as they flew past, lights arcing across his face. Bruce shivers a little at the loneliness he sees reflected there, and has to drop his gaze to his hands. The stranger glances up at him when he moves. Bruce feels the slide of eyes upon him and shoves down the urge to meet his gaze. Another city teaching. So not Midwestern. He can’t forget he’s from Dayton even if he hit his head too hard.

So, he fails. 

The strangers eyes turn curiosity into surprise as Bruce looks at him, "Wow, I thought your eyes were brown." And it's peculiar, the way he says this. Peculiar, because it implies the stranger had been even looking at his eyes. Let alone to notice a thing like an eye color.  

"Surprise," he says flatly, not his best move, and glances down the span of the car. The lights flicker once, twice, and the strangers eyes never leave him. He sighs and returns his gaze to the stranger. He's sick of thinking of him like this, so he opens his mouth-

"Tony." The man says, like he knows what Bruce is going to ask. 

Bruce nods, "Bruce."

 _Fuck_. It's awkward. He doesn't know what to do. 

 They stop, and Tony stands, "This is my stop." He offers, and it sounds weak and forced. Bruce is uncomfortable, and Tony is uncomfortable, but _fuck_ , his eyes are gorgeous. Bruce nods and shrugs, "Better get off, then." 

Tony laughs, and the doors open, "I better, yeah. See you 'round."

It was pleasant. Anti-New-Yorker. Bruce felt uncomfortable. 

He'd probably never see him again, and he’d be almost fine with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Work Title is from a Flobots song, Combat, which you should definitely definitely check out. I know this chapter is short but I typed it out on my phone so please bear with me. Also! I shall be continuing work on Crawling Through the Shadows They Left and Puncture Perfect, but I've had a rough go of it lately, so please be patient regarding those updates. 
> 
> I apologize for my disappearance, but I hope you enjoy the beginning of this new, hopefully short, adventure!


End file.
